One True Theory of Love by Laura Fitzgerald Page B

a voice behind Meg said. “Funny running into you here. I can hardly believe the coincidence.”
    Meg, recognizing Ahmed’s voice, smiled even before she turned and saw him. He was in runner mode, wearing a T-shirt and running shorts, which showed off rock-hard thighs that would be nice to bump up against. Heart pounding, she scrambled to her feet and put out her hand for a handshake, and yowsa , the chemistry was still there.
    “A coincidence, indeed,” she said with a tease in her voice. “Exactly how many times have you run through the park this morning looking for just such a coincidence?”
    “Every hour on the hour starting at seven.” There was pride in his voice.
    In- corrigible , Meg thought, laughing. It was ten o’clock now. “How did you know we’d be here?”
    “Henry told me, remember?”
    “Ah, yes,” Meg said. “My son. The boy who needs to learn discretion. That was shortly before he asked if you were married, right?”
    “Right,” Ahmed said. “Which I’m not.”
    “Right,” Meg said. “Hence the lack of a ring.”
    They exchanged the dopiest of smiles. Meg’s embarrassment was huge. She’d spent perhaps an hour with him the previous week at LuLu’s but days and nights dreaming about him, having imaginary discussions in which she revealed her innermost secrets, and she now had the feeling that he knew her too well. She had to remind herself that he didn’t. He hardly knew her at all.
    “What if we’d gone to the coffee shop?” Meg said. “What if we skipped the game and went there in hopes of running into you?”
    “Ah! I thought of that.” Ahmed held up his pointing finger. “I gave LuLu my cell phone number and made her promise to call if the two of you showed up.”
    “That was very good thinking,” Meg said.
    “How’s the game going?” Ahmed scanned the field until he found Henry, scrawny number nine in his black uniform shirt that hung to the middle of his thighs. “There he is! Playing his guts out. He’s sure fast on his feet. Fearless, too. That’s great. The less fear you have of getting knocked around, the better off you’ll be.”
    “Their team pretty much sucks,” Meg said. “Plus, the coach and the team parent think Henry’s the devil incarnate.”
    “No,” Ahmed murmured more to himself than to her. “How could anyone think that?”
    Man, oh, man. He knew exactly how to turn her heart to mush.
    They watched the game, pileup after pileup on the ball. When after a few minutes Ahmed asked to borrow her phone, Meg got it from her blanket and handed it to him. She considered asking him to join her on the blanket, but the thought of sitting so close to him made her shaky, which was not good , no matter what Amy said.
    Ahmed flipped open her phone, dialed a number, and hit SEND. Instantly, a buzz sounded from his shorts pocket. He clicked off her phone and handed it back and the buzzing from his shorts stopped. “There. I’ve got your number. That solves that problem.” His smile was broad. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to call you this week.”
    Be still, be still, be still my heart.
    “And I can’t tell you how many times I wished I’d given you my number this week, as much as it pains me to admit that,” Meg said. “I’m really not in the market to date right now.”
    “There’s a part of me that doesn’t believe you,” Ahmed said.
    They looked at each other for a long, conflicted moment. It was that starting/not-starting something feeling again, and all Meg knew for sure right then was that the way he looked at her made her feel as if they were alone. As if she was tucked into him, dancing in the moonlight, and they were looking into each other’s souls and finding a kindred spirit.
    It was disconcerting, the feeling. Disconcerting in the loveliest of ways.
    “There’s a part of me that doesn’t believe me, either,” she admitted.
     
     
     
    Even though the rest of Henry’s team played like a soccer version of the